


Two Dozen Blooms

by Roche715



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roche715/pseuds/Roche715
Summary: Frowning, she arrives at the doorway to find it closed and locked tight. Probably due to the small number of hours that he spent asleep, being late wasn't something that Mulder really suffered from. It wasn’t too often that Scully would get to the office before him.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 13





	Two Dozen Blooms

It’s Thursday morning and Scully is striding out of the elevator, turning up to the office at her usual 15 minutes before the workday officially begins. Frowning, she arrives at the doorway to find it closed and locked tight.

Probably due to the small number of hours that he spent asleep, being late wasn't something that Mulder really suffered from. It wasn’t too often that Scully would get to the office before him. And due too his penchant for getting into trouble when unsupervised, Mulder not being where he was supposed to be always created a ball of worry in the middle of Scully's gut.

She enters, scanning the room for any sign of floppy brown hair, coming up short. Trying (and failing) not to fret about everything that could be happening that would stop him from coming into work, she sits in the chair in front of his desk and pulls a file from her case.

Sitting alone in the office is always a jarring experience for her. Without the usual sounds of Mulder to fill the room (paper balls swooshing through the air, the sharp click of seeds between his teeth, the incessant creak of his chair rocking) the office felt cavernous, not at all the cozy space she had become so comfortable in. She'll never admit it to him—or even really to herself—but all the little things that she snaps at him really don’t annoy her anymore. It all sums up to the whole man that is Mulder, her partner and best friend. Not to mention that her scowls always trigger a round of teasing banter that she loves.

Realizing that she has been staring blankly at his nameplate for way too many minutes, she shakes her head, trying to focus her attention back to work. 

15 minutes past the hour she decides to call, hoping that he'll answer and tell her he’s sick or has fallen to some other innocuous tragedy. Fingers crossed he doesn't have holes drilled in his skull again.  
Just as she lifts the phone to call him, she hears the elevator ping and his shuffling footsteps approach from down the hall. Dropping the phone back into its cradle she grabs the file folder off the desk, trying to look nonchalant. Not at all like she was about to start searching the ends of the earth for him.

“Sorry I’m late, Scully.” Fabric rustles as he hangs up his coat.

“It’s no problem, we don’t have anywhere to be so it’s fine.” She feels come closer and looks up as he rounds the desk.

“These are for you.” A massive bouquet of multicolored tulips is dropped on the desk in front of her, obscuring her view of him as he sits.  
“Why… did you bring flowers? Is this why you were late?”

“Why indeed, Scully.” His voice floats over the bulbs, weary.

“I was headed to my car after stopping to grab breakfast and as I was walking by a cart selling flowers, a man bumped me into and it caused a vase to tip over and smash and so I offered to pay for the stuff I broke but the lady burst into tears and just kind of fell apart and everyone around was looking at me like I was a terrible person so I paid for what I broke and got a huge bouquet as extra so she would stop crying.”

He reappears, moving over to the file cabinet. “So now I’m giving them to you.” 

“These are beautiful.” Each blossom is a vibrant mix of yellow and orange, set in a tall glass vase. Way better than that last time he brought flowers. She shivers a little, thinking back to the day in the hospital when she first got the cancer diagnosis.

“Yes. I thought about you when I bought them.” 

What? She gives him a wide-eyed look and he flushes, suddenly realizing what he had said.

“I-I mean that they are variegated tulips, striped tulips. They look like that, all striped and colorful, because of a virus. But people still love them and buy them in droves. You’re the virus in this case.”

“I won’t take that as an insult.”

“I know it wasn’t your intention but you know why you were assigned here. Sent in to ruin the department from the inside. Solve the problem of Fox Mulder and those pesky X-files for the FBI, all neat and proper. What they didn’t know was that they were giving me the best chance I ever had to find the answers I’m looking for. They sent me my greatest ally, the person that would give me credibility and keep me fucking losing my mind down here. You, Scully, are the virus.” The drawer of the file cabinet slides closed.

“Something unexpected and potentially dangerous, but what you bring just makes everything better.”

Scully always feels awkward when he goes on these impassioned monologues. He never says anything overtly romantic, but his words always manage to make her feel soft and mushy inside. And soft and mushy is not something one should feel related to their work colleague, even if they happen to be friends. Best to change the topic.

“How is it that you know such detailed information on a random flower?” 

He waves a hand in her direction. “I learned in high school.”

“For a class?”

“No. You may not be able to believe it but I wasn’t always the suave and desirable man you’ve come to know.” His chest is puffed up but she can see that it’s with laughter rather than ego.

“Really? I never would have guessed it.” She deadpans.

“Anyway, there was a dance coming up in high school and there was this girl I really wanted to ask to go with me. I don’t know why but I thought the best way to do that was to give her a bunch of flowers that looked good together but all meant different things related to why I liked her. So I ended up learning about a lot of random flowers.” He’s back behind the desk, half-hidden behind the cluster of blooms. “Tulips are one of my favorites.”

He’s shuffling papers and searching through drawers absently, obviously trying to avoid the question he knows she wants to ask. Unfortunately, she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“What happened with the girl? The one you gave the flowers to?” When his lips twist in discomfort, she rethinks asking, but he starts before she can say anything.

“I didn’t go through with it. I went to the local florist two days before I was going to ask her to get the order set up and stuff. One of my classmates was the daughter of the shop owner and I guess he told her or she found out some other way. She told everybody and the next day at school some dumb guy made fun of me for buying flowers and being a sap and the girl I liked was there and laughed along with the rest of them.” He pauses, staring at the ceiling, eyes foggy with the past.

“So I didn’t ask her and got rid of the flowers after I picked them up. But you know how I am; I never really forget anything. I always know how to pick out the right flowers for the occasion. As you can imagine, it doesn’t come in handy that often.” 

The silence that settles feels almost suffocating. The awkwardness that Scully felt earlier is back tenfold, mixing with the anger she feels at the humiliation Mulder went through when he was just trying to be the sweet guy she knows him to be. The thought of a teenaged Mulder shamefully throwing away a bundle of hand-picked flowers is painful for Scully, and she can’t even imagine how terrible it must have felt for him at the time. “I’m sorry Mulder, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just another thing that made me into the person I am today. If that didn’t happen who knows—I might not have ever become an FBI agent, you would be an uber-wealthy successful neurosurgeon in an unhappy marriage. Skinner might have a full head of hair. Untold consequence.” The light tone of his words is betrayed by the stiff smile he’s throwing in her direction.

She is used to his routine. Reveal something traumatic and then crack jokes. She would decide when it was worthwhile to press for more or not depending on his mood, but in this case she’s happy to move the conversation along.

“So what do they mean?” She asks, picking up the vase to put them underneath the window.

“What?”

“You only told me how the flowers came to have the stripes of color. You never actually told me what they mean.”

He’s quiet for a few moments and once again his hesitation makes her pause. Why does he seem reluctant to speak?

“Well… the tulip is traditionally associated with the 11th wedding anniversary and—don’t freak out on me here—perfect love.”

“Oh.” 

“But the variegated tulips that I got you commonly represent beautiful eyes.”

“Okay.” They are staring at each other head-on, and as much as Scully wants to turn away she doesn’t want to seem flustered or “freaked out”. There is some consolation though when he clears his throat and adjusts his tie uncomfortably.

“Yeah. But like I said I really only got them because I dropped all that stuff and because of the virus.”

“Of course. I really do appreciate them.” She smirks. “Even if you only got them because you made some poor woman cry at 8 am on a Thursday morning. ” The smile he gives her is way more relaxed. Goofy in the way she has come to love.

“Ha ha very funny.”

They fall back into silence, more comfortable this time. She picks up her pen to start filling out some of the paperwork that needs to be done, snorting when she spies Assistant Director Walter Skinner printed on the page. There’s not a hairstyle she can imagine on Skinner that isn’t ridiculous.


End file.
